The first time Maestro runs us through the score
There rises an impending sense of dread
As details we’ve rehearsed go out the door,
And what we’ve practiced ends up on its head.
Pronunciations and dynamics shift;
We drill refinements ’til our minds our numb.
Our pencils fly, lest we be left adrift,
Our folders bursting with eraser crumbs.
But when the orchestra begins to play,
And soloists make movements seem a whole
Fastidiousness is thoroughly repaid,
And moments of transcendence feed the soul.
But our improvement’s due for a reversal
About the time we have our dress rehearsal.